But every household was reuniting for the New Year, and Master Orion had gone visiting too. There wasn't a single reliable master left in the village who could help me.
I checked into the ER, and it was useless. The fever still wouldn't break. My head felt heavy, my feet light, as if my body were caught between ice and fire—cold on the outside, burning inside—making me utterly miserable.
I shivered, burning so badly my ears rang and I started hallucinating. In each ear, I heard two ferocious beasts roaring, attacking from both sides, constantly striking at me.
It was like laughter. Like roaring. Like something crawling up from the depths of hell.
I endured this for three days. The doctors and nurses sensed something was off, so they drew blood and ran a more comprehensive workup. When the results came back, I heard my parents arguing in hushed voices at the stairwell.
Staggering, I held onto the wall and crept closer. I heard my mom crying as she confronted my dad.
"What the hell is going on? Tell me! If Alex hadn't gotten sick and we hadn't found out, were you planning to hide this from me forever? Richard, you really are heartless—you lied to me for over twenty years!"
Dad sighed repeatedly. He tried to take her hand, but she jerked away. He slammed his fist into the wall.
"I didn't have a choice. I was doing it for your own good."
"For my own good? You've got nerve. If you really cared about my own good, you wouldn't have let me raise a son for you and your mistress without a single complaint!"
"Margaret, don't be so harsh. What mistress? Diana isn't a mistress. I knew her before I knew you. She's always been a decent person. Don't talk about her like that."
"Decent? If she were decent, would she have swapped out my son? My poor baby died all those years ago. I never even held a memorial for him—not once—and instead I've been loving someone else's child. If my son could see this, what would he think?!"
...
While they argued, I silently opened the hospital app on my phone. After logging in, I pulled up my latest test results and genetic analysis.
In the blood type section, I immediately spotted the problem. Both my parents were type O. I was type A. No matter how you looked at it, that was impossible.
Combining that with their argument, the truth was clear: I wasn't their biological child. Mom's baby died before he was even a month old. To soothe her grief, Dad brought over the child of his first love, Diana Henson, as a replacement.
I wasn't a Lambert at all. Not even half.
Dad loved his first love down to his bones. Even though she'd had me with another man, he still loved me as an extension of her—enough to bring me home and raise me as his own.
Now the truth was completely exposed. The one chilled to the bone wasn't just my mom. It was me too, standing there defending her all these years.
I finally understood what Old Madge meant about "poor folks can't raise lions." Turns out she was smarter than anyone. She'd seen through it long ago—knew that I was, through and through, a "poor person."
After the argument, Mom left, heartbroken beyond comfort. Dad returned to my hospital room with a heavy face. Before he could speak, I spoke first.
"Dad, I know who can cure me."
"Who? A friend? A classmate?"
"No. The one who can cure me is Old Madge from our village."
"That's ridiculous. She's a fool—what does she know?"
"She knows. She saw it a long time ago. I'm not a Lambert."
My words startled him. He stared at me in shock, tears suddenly falling. Neither of us said anything more. One look, and we both choked up.
